Humanity
by rwbybomb21
Summary: It was a dream, something she hoped for, and when she thought on what she got, she knew what she saw to get it would never leave her. A Fanfic for LoL user Hughessyy.


**This is a story for a college colleague of mine, by the name of Hughessyy; that's his League of Legends name, not his real one. I ain't stupid. **

**So, Hughessyy is a massive fan of Ahri, so I figured...why not rewrite her entire lore to suit what we saw from the A New Dawn Trailer? And so, this was conceived, this little hell-spawn of demonic love and epicness. **

**Love it. Appreciate it. Hell, marry it and have little hell-spawn babies with it. **

**In short, read it. **

**Warning; massive, MASSIVE, amounts of angst, hints of lore, and a lot of gore.**

**Hey, I rhymed...**

(^^^^^^)

All around the woods and thickened forests of the southern areas of Ionia, life could be heard nestling within the earth's very depths, ranging from burrowing beneath the treetops and bushes, to soaring high above the clouds, circling the air in search of a meal fit for their stomachs. Being the hallowed and somewhat sacred ground known as Navori, poachers, foreigners and natives alike were forbidden under the penalty of exile from entering- the area acting somewhat as a reservation for the more mythical, magical, celestial and somewhat...immortal beings, to thrive and survive without humans or otherwise interfering.

Lore of old and new both spread rumour- though many claimed it to be the truth- that beings of immense power, enough to topple an empire or city, dwelled and flourished within: One such creature being that of a simple, white, furry, cute nine-tailed fox.

(^^^^^^)

War. It was always over the horizon, and those of Ionia's citizens knew so; they despised, but would not shy away from, war. A time of the corrupt laying claim to something that was not theirs to claim, a time of the innocence of civilian blood inevitably becoming afflicted within the very stones of their own home, a home they chose not to fight for, but to support nonetheless.

War was a brutal thing, tearing families away and ripping apart homes, shredding the land's natural beauty until all that remained were the bloodstained blades of grass and warriors alike. It set apart the cowards from the heroes; perhaps that was why she could hear the music of war drums and the beat of heavy feet hitting sacred ground?

Perhaps, she mused, but time was of the essence, food was needed to survive the oncoming winter; the humans that had not been to these woods were both a blessing and a curse. Some would feed her, some would attempt to trap her within massive spiked nets and pierce her lovely white hide with their rusted-with-blood spears.

Primitive.

But, with an afterthought as she froze, so was she; a simple fox with simple, _primitive_ needs. Food, shelter, mating season...

...she shuddered at the latter of the two, her nine tails all but curling in raw disgust. She had met no other foxes like herself in her nine hundred and ninety nine years of existence. It was quite the conundrum, especially when other animals in the region hit their seasons, and she wandered the forest and woods, hoping to find a haven from the home she now lived in.

It was quite saddening when one had to flee from those she hunted, and quite pathetic too; the world was an oyster that she needed to retrieve the pearl of, that pearl of raw power and intelligence, of emotion and ability. She, but a simple fox, could no possibly hope to wander beyond her ravenous home. Yet...she felt a tug towards the beating drums of men and marching soldiers hitting ground. She may be primitive, but the raw essence of magic had followed her as a pup would its parent, as if lost yet needing.

So she followed the tug, hoping for that dream she had; wandering. She loved to adventure every crevice, hole, nook and cranny of the woods she resided, but with her years, she had searched every area of her home, and grew tired and bored; immortality was a waste to her. She wanted life, she wanted to grow old, have a family, do something other than hunt and preserve dead animals to survive through winters. She wanted humanity.

Plodding along the war-beaten path where soldiers had trodden simple minutes ago, she gently swung her tails in synchronisation with her emotion of anticipation; she wanted to see what the humans did in their spare time, what they used, why they fought, what they wore, what they looked like.

She traversed the plains that separated the woods from the battlefield that would be coming into view, but when she arose from that simple slope of a hill that separated the field from the woods, she froze.

Her view was clouded by death; So much death, screaming and violence filling the area. But magic too. It was the magic that drew her here, and now she questioned it; why drag her here to see something as gruesome as this?

A man, maybe in his mid thirties with silver hair and green eyes, charged another with a katana-like weapon. She had come across the weapon before in the woods, buried deep beneath the brushes of where a battle had raged before. She knew not why they used swords for fighting, fists seemed much more reasonable.

She soon learned; the man with the katana, a golden brace around his waist and a red and black set of armour on, ran the sword through the silver haired, youngish man. She watched with horror as his eyes held pure hatred, even in his dying breath; why would humans fight like this over seemingly nothing? They must have a reason, she figured, but sitting atop the slope of a hill, watching this...this war rage on before her very eyes? Too much, too soon; way too soon for her liking, that is.

The katana wielding man then did something she never expected; he dragged it out of the silver haired one slowly, the man's scream of pain hitting her ears above the clashing of steel and shouts. She never tore her eyes away, watching with horror as the sword was finally dragged out, only for the katana wielder to swing it through the air, the sword lopping the man's head off.

She shook in horror and fear, but never once did she move, her entire form shaking yet frozen.

Then she felt it in the aftermath of bodies and blood, the scent permeating through the air even after she had finished watching the horror before her. It had ended, yet her battle of wit and strength continued on; wit to live, strength to survive. Ionia was her land, her residence, her habitat of choice, and she had seen its citizens cut down without a second thought.

Well, there was one, a woman maybe in her late twenties, wielding a sword of gargantuan proportions. Green, flowing magic emanated from the runes that glowed brightly, fiercely. The master looked down at her sword, as if ashamed yet satisfied.

Ahri could see a fire within the woman's red-brown eyes dying, and she felt that if anyone were to lose their hope, their ambitions for fighting as brutally as she had done only moments before, then it would be this white haired Noxian. She heard it said from her Ionian fellows; Noxians that invade city states such as this one, only to demolish, ransack and leave in the piles of their own ashes without pause: All in the name of strength, of blood.

The magic called again, and she followed without hesitation, coming across a dying, but odd looking, aged man. A grey beard hung from his chin, wrinkles set within his forehead and cheeks, yet his nose remarkably clear of any sign of aging. Next, lying across from his head was a pointed yet ruined hat, almost...magical. It radiated pure magic, and Ahri, for once, was glad the day turned out the way it did. If these Noxians had not fought and invaded, then she'd never get the chance to gain that which she wished for most.

Humanity was a desperate thing. She wanted it, craved it, lived for the time she'd see herself in a human's skin, wearing clothing and fighting, maybe, in her own wars one day.

Yet she searched endlessly, the answer to her question unanswered.

And now here it was, lying in a pool of blood and dirt. She gently walked on the man's chest, feather-light as she tried to convey her message of what she needed, craved. The man seemed to understand her, for he released a throaty chuckle, albeit not loud enough to rouse his fellow soldiers to his location.

She crawled, almost seductively, up to his eye level, her blue orbs piercing into his greyed green ones.

"I know what you want."

And he gave it to her.

She collapsed, the feeling of magic spreading through her veins like wildfire burning her insides stopping shortly after it began, yet she could see and feel the wrongness of the situation.

She had two feet, not four. She had hands, flowing black hair, blue human eyes. Human fingers, human skin. She was _human_. She also noted that she had on a revealing yet armoured robe, yet for some reason it felt natural, almost second nature to wear it.

"What? Over here! A survivor!" she turned her head just in time for two arrows to fly past her ears, almost as if warning her not to move.

Ahri, the rebel she is, moved anyway. Fluent was a word to describe her current skill in moving her new human appendages, as if nothing but nature controlled them. She knew not her knowledge of this, yet she didn't want to know.

She ran into the forest surrounding, and pushed apart a pair of bushes.

She slammed into something hard, yet soft hands encased her side gently, stopping the recoil. Looking up she met two green eyes, both bright with ferocity and gentleness.

Without a word, she and Leona sprinted off. No longer was she in the past, she had remind herself, no longer. She was Ahri, the Nine-Tailed Fox, mage for her Summoner and friend of Leona. She would keep her safe, her new goal, as opposed to her old one in finding magic.

As they ran through the vast jungles in an ancient part of the world known as a name long forgotten, but dubbed by many as Summoner's Rift, a thought occurred to her as daggers pointed flew and buried themselves deep within a tree not a whisker from her face.

What was next?


End file.
